Little Candles
by rachellephant
Summary: 100 drabbles to shed a bit of candle light on Zuko and Katara.
1. Introduction

**Little Candles**

"Light gives of itself freely, filling all available space. It does not seek anything in return;  
it asks not whether you are friend or foe. It gives of itself and is not thereby diminished."

– Michael Strassfeld.

100 drabbles to shed a bit of light on Zuko and Katara and the deeply sensual,  
zealous, and forbidden infatuation they harbor for their polar opposites: Each other.

This is not only to illustrate a fictitious romance between Zuko and Katara,  
but also to explore hidden aspects of each one's individual character; I will  
be delving beneath the surface and underneath, sometimes using the other  
main characters to extract deeper feelings from one of the aforementioned.

Please review with your thoughts and your critiques,  
And I hope with all my heart that you find this as enjoyable to read as I found it to write.

I now present to you the _Little Candles_ of Zuko and Katara.


	2. Scar

**093. Scar**

She doesn't think it's ever occurred to him that he's beautiful, but he is.

He has skin as fair as an angel's; his arms and hands are muscular and sturdy from his relentless practices. Wide shoulders accompanied with sharp collar bones and angles balance out his lean legs and stomach. Soft brown feathers of hair clothe his head, hanging over his forehead, casting shadows on his cheeks. He has eyes like liquid gold, melting, smoldering, soaked in experience. His left eye is literally _covered_ in it.

Most people, she knows, take one glance at him and cringe from the ghastly red scar; it burns through his handsome face like a comet burns through the night sky. _She_ remains the only one whom he has ever let touch it; she trails her fingers over the rough sandpaper skin, touching his eye and then hers, imagining the blistering pain rushing through her own skin, the blinding light scalding her own eye.

She feels her soft, whole cheekbone all the way through her eyebrow and then turns back to him, chewing the inside her cheek softly, stunned into near-silence as his lifelong struggle hits her like a punch in the gut. Tremendous, overwhelming, sickening, and impressive at the same time.

"Does it hurt?" she asks as she lifts her hands again to trace the outline of the gruesome spot; her fingers disappear into his soft hair for a moment before traveling down the bridge of his nose and across the irregularly shaped cheekbone that was once so striking and sharp, like his collar bone and shoulder blades. He does not blink as she does this. He doesn't smile, he doesn't frown. He doesn't move.

"Not anymore." Now he shifts, placing his palm over hers so that her hand cups his face. "But it did when it happened, and for weeks and weeks after that."

"Oh," she whispers, and that's all that is said as she strokes his scar lightly with her thumb.

Katara does not find Zuko beautiful because of the physical looks he possesses — though she imagines what a fine man he would have been if he where whole — but because of his inner beauty, which blossoms through him like a flower in bloom. He has struggled and fought, and it makes him strong. Katara finds this determination, this hidden strength, so beautiful it takes her breath away. He works so hard and she feels like he deserves much more attention for it, much more recognition, much more love. He's so beautiful and no one notices, no one but her.

And the scar, an unsightly, revolting symbol of such an unparalleled beauty that lies beneath, represents everything that she loves him for. It is the scar that she has to thank for bringing him to her; if he never got the scar he would never have been banished, if he was never banished he never would have found her.

She likes his scar and though she doesn't tell him this, she finds it just as beautiful as she finds the rest of him.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Here is some mutual attraction to get the ball rolling. R&R. Don't just favorite & run (:


	3. Pain

**022. Pain**

It is all pain when Azula strikes him with her lightning. Icy-hot pain, seeping, flowing, surging. It slashes his chest like a blade, sharp, slicing. A cry in his mouth — it makes it out, but just barely, choking, taking the last of his breath.

And then he hears her voice — not Azula's — Katara's — she has sweet melody in her speech normally but now the song morphs into a screeching, terrified cry, like she is the wounded instead of he. Like she is the one lying here, bleeding through the heart, through the soul. Like through his deadly injury, she somehow feels _his_ pain and it has become her own.

"_Zuko_!"

Her voice fills with more agony than his throbbing chest. He feels hurt beyond anything he has ever known — it pours into his stomach, his throat, his arms, his legs, weakening him into raw, excruciating sorrow.

This, he knows, is the worst kind of pain.

Azula screams with deranged, diverse mirth as Zuko lies on the ground and begins to fade.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I know there's probably a lot of one-shots out there during Zuko and Azula's battle, but that's what the next three are going to be about, so… suck it up. They kind of go together, the next three, in a before-during-after way. Well. Actually more of a during-during-after way. Anyway, they go together, and once I've had my fun with Zuzu's battle we'll move on. Just be aware of that.

Oh, and I want to thank those of you who favorited, alerted, and most of all REVIEWED!! (:

(Go do it again. VV)


	4. Blue

**003. Blue**

Blue. Her eyes are blue. Blue like slippery, glassy ice; blue like crashing, tumbling ocean; blue like calm, peaceful lakes. Blue like forget-me-not petals, blue like the toppling sky as it skirts around clouds. Her eyes are blue sapphires glinting, shimmering down at him frantically.

Her voice is blue with misery, blue with fear, blue with helplessness.

"Zuko… Zuko…"

She heaves out sobs, choking them up from her throat; she tries to hold them back but they come anyway, ruthlessly. Her lungs sound raw and anguished to his tired ears; they are injured animals, beaten a thousand times and then forced to sprint and never slow down.

He tries to reach up to her, tries to touch her, tries to wipe away the dark and replace it with something light. But his arms feel like lead and his brain like jelly, and he can't move at all. He can only watch her in tortured immobility as he slowly loses feeling.

Her hands are blue with water. She presses them to his charred chest; an indifferent stream scrapes his wounds, burning but cooling, soothing but aching.

Blue tears drip from her eyes and down her face, and there is blue fire all around them.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ This is the piece that you have to thank for actually starting this whole random 100-drabble business. Yessir, I wrote this one before I wrote everything else, but I put Scar and Pain first because I liked Scar as an opener and I liked Pain before this one, cause the next one kinda goes with the trio of Pain, Blue, and _—title omitted for violating the secrecy policy of upcoming chapters—_ which, like I said, are the during-during-after scenes to Azula's battle.


	5. Why

**027. Why**

"Zuko, why'd you do it?"

She's not crying but her voice is full of emotion. He tries to pluck out exactly what _kind_ of emotion that lingers behind her speech, but he can't quite pinpoint it exactly.

"I don't understand. You were so whole. She could have killed you. Why'd you do it?"

He speaks without missing a beat. "She threatened you."

Like icicles teetering on their breaking point overhead, her eyes seem to pierce him even before they strike the blow, cold and dangerous and impending.

"_I_ don't matter. It's your fate that mattered. That was so careless."

Bitterness, that's the emotion. With a hint of anxiety, a hint of desperation.

He touches his wounds. They hurt and he groans, gasping suddenly, clutching at his side and his chest where he was struck, and compressing the injury as though the pressure will relieve some of the sharp, momentary agony. Across the room, Katara holds her breath.

Fear? Is that in there, too?

When he finally regains his composure enough to look her in her beautiful _alive_ eyes, he replies in a hoarse, smiling whisper, "It was worth it."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Originally this was just dialogue, but I decided to put words into it as well; I didn't change any of the material in quotations from my original though. Just spaced them out a bit with some hearty detail! Next chapter coming soon, depending on my review rate ;) So leave some love!


	6. Water

**074. Water**

"You know, I used to be forbidden from bending."

It's not a serious statement, since she's doing the so-called forbidden act as she says it. Water flops from her left palm to her right; she catches it, tossing back and forth. The water is cool around their ankles as she lifts more into her hands and juggles three giant rain droplets.

He watches and wriggles his toes in the velvety underwater sand. The tide buries his feet and then digs them up again. He chuckles a little bit, because she's having trouble juggling and bending at the same time.

"Don't laugh," she says, but she smiles across the pond at him and pitches one ball at his chest, the other two twirling in her opposite hand. He catches it easily with Waterbending, cupping its shimmery glory in his palms like it's a crystal ball, but all he can see reflected is a light-blue arrow and big green-brown eyes.

Her voice remains light and airy. "I was very conflicted when I was little because of it. Gran-Gran used to strictly prohibit my powers."

She tosses one of the water-balls in the air and catches it in the other hand behind her back, joining the two balls together as one globule of jelly-looking water. Sun rays gleam off of the new one's wavering surface and traps his eyes; he observes the way she bends it, now in front of her, into a long rope, and then into a whip, and then into icicles, and back into regular water again. It's so easy for her and he wishes that it was as easy for the Avatar, too.

"What did she do?" He toddles toward her, studying her bending and trying to imitate it with his smaller selection of water.

"She told me the Fire Nation would take me away," replies the other. "It was the only way to get me to stop. But I still practiced in secret." At this point she grins, her mouth as mischievous as her eyes.

Briefly he pictures a tiny Katara lobbing water baubles between palms but is quickly pulled back to the present as an audacious laugh escapes her mouth.

He likes her daring side and without quite knowing what he's doing, moves toward her, impulsively craving to be near her, but he doesn't want to ruin their delicate moment and instead masks his urge to close the distance between clumsily by bending his tiny water trinket with hers and wraps his fingers around her hand in the center of their combined bubble. He bends it to surround their linked arms.

"I bet she's proud of you now," he says quietly. The water crumbles away and he's just there, holding onto her moist fingers tenderly. He brings them to his mouth and brushes them with his lips.

"Thanks, Aang," she sighs, rocking on her heels toward him.

"You're welcome, Katara."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ A bit of insight on their relationship. Ever since the episode with the play where she rejected his kiss I've imagined him having a love for her while she obliviously denies it. (Sigh) Poor Aang is so smitten with her… As always, R&R - and I appreciate the favoriting and the alerting guys but a review would be AWESOME, just to tell me how I'm doing with the charries and such. Love you. (:


	7. Red

**018. Red**

"What do you think of her?"

"Who?"

"The Waterbender. What do you think of her?"

"She's my friend."

A pause. Sticky silence.

". . . A _friend_?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

A second pause. Itchier than the first.

"I don't believe you."

His next statement is like dagger in trembling hands, trying to slice through easily but failing and getting caught in the guilt mess of murder.

"Why — Why not? It's the truth."

She glances away, out the red-trimmed window, looking but not really seeing with her coal stone eyes as the scenery whizzes by. The silence screams in their ears; his hands are painted red.

When she finally speaks, her voice is astute and prickly.

"Next time when you want to lie to me, at least _try_ to make it a good one."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Mai and Zuko have such a breakable trust between them. Ahh.

Oh, and BIG QUESTION! How many of you hate Kataang? (I know that's a loaded question ha ha). I might imply some in future drabbles, because its canon, and I respect it. But Zutara will always be dominant and somewhere in there. Like the previous chapter ("Water") was kinda Kataang-y (it's a delicious fruit drink! :D). I don't know if that makes sense but I'll explain in later A/N's I guess.

Anyways, REVIEW! PLEASE! Ily(:


	8. Sketching

**034. Sketching**

Fidgeting. Scuffling.

"Hold still."

"Hmm?"

"You."

She freezes. He observes.

Poised, perfect and beautiful, she sits and waits as his brush strokes the page, each line like a living, breathing creature of its own, aligning and combining to create something so much more magnificent than they all could have hoped to be alone. Her jaw with two strokes, her sleek neck with two more; her delicate round shoulders and arms with three each.

He wonders what she'll say when she sees the picture but he tries not to think of it, instead continuing to sketch, one caress of paint after another. He carries on down her body with the strokes of his brush, imagining them as strokes of his fingers on her skin every now and again. The painting feels like a barrier between them and he wants to throw it away and tackle her off that stool to the floor and have his way with her but he continues to smother the paper in her splendor instead.

"What's that stupid smile for?"

"Nothing," he lies, suppressing the smirk unsuccessfully. She cocks one thin eyebrow; it teeters on her forehead, dangerous, daring. The corners of his mouth tweak up slightly.

"Just hold still, will you?"

* * *

_Author's Note_: Zuko's thinking dirty thoughts. Review!


	9. Nobody

**055. Nobody**

He's nobody now.

Nobody to his country, nobody to his father, his sister, his childhood friends.

Nobody to Mai, nobody to Ty Lee.

Nobody to the loyal crew that once served him, nobody to the army of Fire Benders that were once under his sole command.

Nobody to Sokka, who still turns his nose up at one from the Fire Country when he feels hurt; nobody to Uncle, whom he betrayed; nobody to Suki, who does not know how to react to the man who is responsible for the destruction of her village…

It seems like he is nobody to everybody now, but he's somebody to _her_, and that's all that matters anyway.

* * *

_Author's Note_: This one's super cheesy. Cheesy like cheese cake. But eh. I'll have the next one up… soon, probably, so it makes up for this one's epic cheesy failure. And by soon I either mean tonight or tomorrow morning. Whichever comes first.


	10. Change

**043. Change**

It's the little things that tip her off, in the end. The hugs become shorter, conversations duller, kisses quicker. His touches seem routine, his devotion customary instead of remarkable.

Love is a fickle thing and she seldom seeks it out, but she suddenly impulsively grabs hold at this time, wanting it now more than ever. She depends on him and this flame they have between them; she needs it like she needs food, air, water. It's hard to see any of this beneath the flat face, the dour voice, the expression devoid of any emotion. It's hard to see under such a façade but she only puts it on now so _he_ won't see that she knows what's going on.

Because she does.

She wonders now if she could have stopped it. The change, the great shift in the balance of the world. Something tells her she couldn't but it barely matters any more. Her smile is nearly invisible, just a thread of what maybe once happened. She is only half there and he doesn't notice, too wrapped up in something so different and otherworldly that all she can do is make her face gloomier, eyes thinner, voice grimmer. His scheduled affection means nothing now; the flame between them fades ever so gently, ever so slowly, and she thinks that it might not matter if it were simply a growing-out-of-you thing, but it's not.

It's the way he is when he's with that _outsider_. The way he twirls her hair, the way he touches her cheeks, the way he smiles like she's the sun in his eyes. It's different from the things he used to do with her and she knows it is a different kind of love, a changed kind of love for a changed kind of prince.

No one questions why she is quieter now than before, no one bothers to figure out what might be going on behind her dismal air; not even Zuko, who's kisses mean nothing, who's fingertips trailing against her skin mean nothing, who's love, affection, care, now changed, mean completely and totally nothing. Everything and nothing all at once spiraling over and over again like a great cycle of isolation, because she knows after this shred of time together he will go spend hours upon hours with the other woman.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ More Mai angst. Like I said, expect more from her!


	11. Headache

**044. Headache**

There is always an air of tension when she walks by. His breath gets short and his chest gets tight. He cannot speak, he cannot think: All he knows is the terrible consuming strain building in his limbs and temples, like a headache, except all over his body and twice as sweet as it is painful.

It overwhelms and suffocates, like being thrust under water and held there by unbreakable bonds of an involuntary, sickly-sweet affection. It drives him mad; it puts a permanent ache in his chest, an undying weight upon his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she asks when she sees his disconcerted state. He'd like to say that she's perceptive, but he knows it's just probably obvious how conflicted he is inside. _She_ doesn't seem to recognize the invisible friction between them.

He whispers a gentle lie, trying not to let it catch in his clogged throat. "Nothing."

Placing his hand upon her shoulder in reassurance, he notices for the thousandth time how smooth her russet skin is. It has a glow all its own and feels like an ocean-washed stone. Their flesh touching generates a spark on his fingers, though he has created no fire; a flicker, an ember, sparkling and shimmering and inspiring. Something not born of flames but of deep profound fondness.

Katara seems not to experience this sensation as they touch; instead she watches him curiously and dares to give him a small, timid smile. The wind brushes her hair through with nimble fingers, feathering his hand in a soft caressing way.

"Okay, if you're sure," she says, and she puts her hand on his. Another spark, more tension — it travels up his arm and sends his brain whizzing beyond here and now; he's gone for a few moments, so caught up in her effortless beauty that he can make sense of nothing around him but the simple tension building inside him.

Like a headache, except all over his body and twice as sweet as it is painful.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Uh, so yeah. Here you go. R&R.


	12. Danger

**036. Danger**

A sensation erupts suddenly, like lightning in her feet. Toph's hands tickle as she presses them to her beloved earth to get a closer look at the vibrations approaching. Zuko's steps are warm like fire and quick like a blade. He is coming.

But he's not alone.

Another pair of footsteps, too. Katara's? No. Katara's footsteps are soft and gentle, padding smoothly and effortlessly; she might as well be dancing when she walks. These are definitely not Katara's: They are sharp like a stone dagger and cold like its flat side; they bore holes in her head, gently pounding but never caring, never digging deeper, only on the surface, only tasteless superficiality.

Toph tries to recognize and remember them; she tries hard to feel the vibrations, pressing her palms so firmly to the ground that they begin to dig into the floor and make perfect hand-shaped prints. Yet she cannot remember such a tread and she can only come to one conclusion.

Toph doesn't like these footsteps. She doesn't like them at all. They are different than Katara's but they are walking femininely with Zuko and it feels wrong to even be listening to that.

As the Firebender and his mystery friend approach, the only thing Toph can think is that she must get out of here now and warn Katara before she can find out for herself. Toph is not scared but she feels the same feeling she feels before a good battle, like danger is coming, like she needs to prepare.

Angry suddenly, she punches the earth and rock propels her to her feet; once there she takes off like lightning toward Katara's tent as Zuko approaches with the untrustworthy other.

Danger _is_ coming. But it's a different kind of danger and Toph finds herself worried that Katara will be injured far worse than anyone else.

* * *

_Author's Note_: For those of you who need some explaining: Zuko's with another girl. Katara will be sad. Toph cares. Gasp! Ha. I love Toph. She does have a sensitive side somewhere, right? (Buried. Deeply. But I'm sure it's there.) Anyways. R&R. I'll probably update… soon… love you :D


	13. Howl

**080. Howl**

Katara tries not to cry if she can help it. It's simple: She can't be feeble and limp when she needs to be strong for Sokka and for Aang. Weakness is not an option, but sometimes it's hard to run from.

It is hard now for Katara to escape from such a weakness. Hard for her to run from something nestled deep inside her. Hard now, to stop from crying.

Great, gasping, shuddering sobs hurl themselves from her throat; she nearly chokes on them as they force their way through her body, from a place deep down she never even knew she had. Her knees are curled to her chest, her form constricted, tightened, as though bound by ropes into a ball. Her lungs rattle against her ribs; she trembles from head to toe, her hands shaking violently and her vision wavering.

It's ridiculous how much she's let this monster eat her up; this tearful, terrible thing inside her consumes her and it's like she can't escape.

Everything hurts. Her stomach and heart both ache equally as they force out those earth-shaking sobs. She's blubbering and sniveling, miserable, ashamed of her frailty and flimsiness. White-hot tears burn her eyes like fire and blur her surroundings.

She sits in the corner of a tiny stone room she had found to hide from everyone else in at the Eastern Air Temple. Moss covers the walls, tapestries of algae, but she only had a few seconds to register this when she first flung herself in here to hide before she began to howl and never stopped.

Her legs throb from sprinting here, dashing away from everyone else if only to be alone… but her efforts prove fruitless, pointless: A shadow still falls over her.

She wants to choke out one condescending phrase — _go away _— but she can barely breathe between the sniffling. Wait out the storm, she thinks, but her intruder has other plans.

He steps closer and she turns on her tailbone to face the wall; she doesn't want him to see her in this embarrassing state. Sobs continue to wrack from her lungs and stomach even as she faces the cold green-and-grey wall of the near-empty room and the trespasser touches her shoulder and slides his arm to her waist, scooping his other beneath her knees and lifting her up into his arms as she continues to cry and moan.

Instead of struggling against his strength she puts her arms around Zuko's neck and sobs into his shoulder.

She is humiliated that he has to see her like this, broken and confused, but at the same time thankful that he showed up to take hold of her before she slipped away. His arms around her create some sort of foreign but comforting barrier as he carries her out of the room and around the stone building, climbing stairs up to where they set up camp.

He whispers, "Shh, Katara, it's going to be okay," over and over and she finds herself quieting automatically, reduced to smaller, less violent weeping, but her face is still buried in his collar, the fabric of his shirt soaking with her warm tears.

Safe now, he carries her to her tent, past the sleeping others, where he sets her on her sleeping bag and takes his jacket off to lay over her. She curls her knees back to her chest in a fetal position, trembling and shaking with the aftershock of the storm. Zuko sits in her tent and guards her until she drifts into slumber. Only then is she peaceful and only then does he wipe her tears off her cheeks with his thumbs.

She never tells him why she was crying and he never asks. Katara still tries not to cry when she can help it, but he can alleviate the pain when she gives in and that's part of the unspoken connection between them that says everything without saying anything at all.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Ahh. You frequently see Katara slipping tears out but a full-on breakdown is rare for her, so I decided to write it and turn it into a Zutara. Oh the angst. Buahah. Well, R&R, and if you have a request, send it my way. It might get put in here ;D

BY THE WAY. To **xyzisme** ~ I'm working on some more original stuff. Just wanted to reassure you of that. Because I've got some more stuff coming that I think hasn't been put to Zutara before. So. Uh. Yeah. If this isn't original enough, which I don't think it is, ha ha. :) But pure 100 percent Raz is on it's way!


	14. Butterfly

**052. Butterfly**

There is a butterfly in his palm. Its feet tickle his skin as they flail frantically; his fingers grasp its soft wing tightly enough so that it can't get away. Watching it curiously, he lifts it into the air as it struggles in his hands.

They are marvelous things, he decides, but this one's dying and he doesn't know why. Its thrashing lessens gradually and its colors seem to fade and turn grey and he's watching this confused and concerned. A moment ago it was alive and fluttering and beautiful and now, after he succumbed to his imminent desire to reach out and hold and touch it… why is its life vanishing so visibly?

"Zuko!"

A shocked cry comes from behind him — he turns and looks as the butterfly continues to die slowly in his hands.

"What on earth — ?"

Katara rushes toward him, her face wildly appalled and her hair dancing behind her. She looks as marvelous as the butterfly once did, beautiful and colorful — but her face reveals strange distress.

Taking the butterfly from his hand she places it delicately on the grass beneath their feet where it twitches feebly; with tender, slight hands she bends a thin strip of water out of her gourd and it wraps like a rope around the butterfly's wing where Zuko grasped it. The butterfly and Katara's hands glow with her miraculous healing abilities. She does all of this very quickly and with an expression that is frenzied but focused.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to touch a butterfly's wings?" she says irritably as she carefully heals her patient.

Zuko shakes his head. "This is the first time I've seen one." He feels stupid and childish as he says this, because she glances at him exasperatedly. In his defense, he adds, "They don't come to the Fire Nation gardens very often. I don't think they like fire."

"They don't come to the South Pole, either," Katara scoffs, "but even _I_ knew that a butterfly dies when you touch its wings."

Feeling even more naïve, he watches her heal for another second and then asks, "Why does that happen?"

"Why do they die when you touch them?"

Patiently, he nods, eager to find out but trying not to show it.

Katara thinks for a moment; her healing hands become smoother and gentler as they hover over the broken butterfly's wings. She's almost done.

"I'm not sure exactly." She lifts the butterfly into her palm and begins to bend with just her fingers now; the job is getting more intricate. "I relate a butterfly's death to capturing it. When you try to confine something, it becomes a lot less beautiful than it would be if it were free. And sometimes, if you hold too tight and don't loosen up… the something you tried so hard to hold onto dies."

As she says this the butterfly twitches and struggles to its tiny feet. Katara helps it with her Waterbending, and as it stands she extracts the water from its wings and body. It perches curiously on her little finger, healed and healthy, as though it doesn't quite know what to do now that it's back in shape.

With reverence, Zuko watches it, marveling at the tiny beauty.

Katara's smile is kind. "They're precious things, butterflies. A lot of people want to catch them for their looks but… it's better if they're left free."

Finally deciding on flying away, the butterfly spreads its tiny yellow-orange wings and flaps them a couple times as a tester, before taking off slowly and ambling away, a colored dot against the blue sheet of sky. Zuko watches it stumble the first few flaps into the welcoming air before it regains its balance; its flight becomes smoother.

And he looks at the woman next to him; unattainable and inaccessible as she is, Zuko can't help but feel the need to reach out and hold her and touch her, like he wanted to with the pretty insect now fluttering above them just moments ago.

Yet he holds back, because as the wind combs wildly through her hair, she's staring benignly at the little butterfly, flying against the breeze with the constant desire to finally be free.

* * *

_Author's Note_: I did a bit of research and found out that butterflies actually WON'T die if you touch their wings. It hurts them, though, and it peels away some of the scales that protect the cells and give them their beautiful colors, but if you're gentle, touching them won't kill them. For all intents and purposes, we're going to imagine that Zuko was gripping his butterfly pretty hard. Makes sense, since he's not exactly a delicate person, is he?

Oh, and how was the butterfly supposed to survive Katara's Waterbending/healing awesomeness? She's just _that good_.


	15. Fair

**054. Fair**

She knows she's not pretty — she knows she doesn't have sleek hair and long legs like Mai's, big beautiful brown eyes like Ty Lee's, or perfectly proportional chest and waist like Suki's. Instead she's got eyes too far apart and hands and hips too big for her, and a chest the size of a twelve year old boy and she knows that's not attractive to anyone.

There's no time to waste on beauty when you're trying to battle through a war, though. No time when you're busy watching over a brother who's half broken heart is poorly masked by his comical satire; no time when you've got to keep a hold of a scamming, troublesome blind girl who has twice the confidence that you do; no time when you're trying to keep everyone together and leave out no one. How, in between all that, is she supposed to make herself at_ all_ attractive?

But he loves her, and she hates him for it, because even though she's not beautiful he stays by her through thick and thin, encouraging her and _loving_ her so much it doesn't make sense.

_He_'s beautiful. He has big eyes that shine and shimmer even in the darkness, with a light entirely his own, branching from his heart and spreading like a wildfire to every corner of the room.

She touches his faded markings and trembles because of their picturesque splendor; simple, but elegant, he kisses her on the cheek with a smile and then takes off on his glider to go save the world again as she stays home to forget about beauty and struggle with keeping things composed.

He has all the radiance — physically and internally — in the world, but he loves _her_ even though her hair is frizzy clouds of dark brown and even though her body is underdeveloped and even though she has less than half of the inner beauty that he exudes. He would love her even if she was hideous and deformed, and that's unfair.

It's unfair that all those pretty girls with their perfect bodies and shiny hair and summer birthdays have to miss out on a boy as magnificent as him just because he's swept up in someone contemptible like her… someone like her who simply doesn't deserve someone like him.

And it just isn't fair that somebody so beautiful should feel this way about somebody so_ not_, but that's why, when he arrives home, she brushes his arrows again with her fingers and pulls him in for a kiss, because touching the beauty, even just barely, somewhat satisfies her unexplained need to be close to magnificence.

* * *

_Author's Note_: The real, selfish reason why Katara is with Aang and not Zuko :o (It's okay, you can gasp).


	16. Storm

**086. Storm**

"_What_ did you say was happening tonight?"

She's smirking, because she's just realized they don't have storms in the Fire Nation. At least not storms like they have in the South Pole.

He huddles in the corner of the igloo, his knees drawn tightly to his chest and a pair of Sokka's extra animal-hide pants and jacket wrapped firmly around his shaking body. The periwinkle colored clothing makes the burgundy scar stand out awkwardly and she laughs again because of the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.

"You're not _scared _are you?"

As though offended, he scoffs, turning away. "Please. I just don't like the cold very much." He pulls the coat closer to his body and sniffs; she guesses his nose is running and his sinuses are aflame with the change in climate that he's witnessed since he's been staying there.

Sometimes it seems cruel to laugh, but she can't help but grin when she thinks of him this way. It's funny, and even though she can feel him glaring at her through her own warm blue hood, laughter continues to penetrate her warm breath.

There's a clicking noise by the door of the igloo and Sokka crawls in, his chocolate hair salted with snowflakes. "Dude," he chuckles at Zuko, who shivers in the corner and sniffs again. "Chill out." Then he looks at Katara, grinning and winking. "Get it? _Chill_ out? Because it's… cold."

"Ha ha," she responds, voice laden with sarcasm. Sokka makes a face at her but she ignores it. "What are Dad's orders?"

"He wants you both in our hut in ten minutes so we can all stay together and wait out the storm" — Zuko twitches nervously and Katara compresses a snicker in her throat — "Wouldn't want to leave _you_ two _alone_ together." Sokka grimaces significantly at Zuko, who glares right back, determined not to flinch again.

Outside, the sky howls and Katara can almost feel the wind blistering. Zuko jumps violently at its roar.

"We should get going," Sokka guffaws, motioning to lead the way out of the igloo. Zuko gets to his feet dejectedly.

"Don't be scared," she chides.

"I'm not," he insists. But his cheeks are a rusty pink and she can help but grin a little at how cute it is seeing the great Fire Lord Zuko completely helpless.

His face develops into a thick crimson as she continues to stare at him, amused and fascinated. "What?"

"Nothing, let's get going," she smiles, and the blushed patches on his skin grow with something more than embarrassment as she wraps his mittened fingers in her own and leads him out of the safety of the igloo.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ A bit of light fluff. :3


	17. Apples

**006. Apples**

Toph's hands are small and rough, calloused from her constant Earthbending. Zuko knows that she plays with rocks frequently, shifting them and enjoying the soft scraping melody of stone on stone and the crashing of rocks to earth, but he never knew she had a thing for gardening.

"Have you ever planted anything before?"

"No," he replies, staggering back as she thrusts a bag of seeds into his hands.

She gives a great snort and puts her tiny but powerful hands on her hips. "You stuck up prince; I bet you never had to touch dirt in your life. Here, hand over the seeds." But he doesn't need to give them up because a shaft of earth shoots up and knocks them from his hand and Toph catches them in hers again. Scowling, he wonders why she even gave him the seeds in the first place if she only planned to take them back. To exemplify her power? He wouldn't put it beneath her.

"Come here," she commands, ignoring his scowl, "kneel down beside me."

Reluctantly he stoops next to her, his knees coming in contact with the hot dirt beneath them.

"The one thing you hotheads got right was burning everything instead of just letting it die," she tells him as she points to the small evidence of ashes at her petite toes. "Ash is a natural nutrient. We're going to plant apple trees here." She points along the western wall of the royal garden. "Today."

Feeling utterly and incomprehensibly stupid, he replies dully, "Okay," knowing full well that he would most definitely _not_ be doing this if Katara was here. She and her brother had left for the South Pole the previous week and without them (particularly, without _her_) Zuko thinks his large house rather empty. And lonely. And now he's stuck with Toph making him feel like an idiot.

Toph hands him a shovel. "Dig a hole," she instructs. After he does she holds out one, tiny seed and places it in his palm. "Now put this in the hole and bury it. Add some fertilizer from the other bag and water it."

It's Zuko's turn to snort. "_One_ seed?" he scoffs. "How can _one measly seed_ grow into a great tree? Shouldn't we put more in there?"

"No, Sparky," she replies crossly, and then adds in an under-breath, rolling her sightless eyes, "Typical Fire Nation ignorance."

Taken aback but not altogether surprised by her curtness, Zuko drops the seed dejectedly into the tiny hole and shovels the spare dirt on top of it, crushing it beneath. The watering can rains over the earth for only a second before Toph's tired hand stops him. He sets the watering can down and waits and watches.

Toph's unseeing eyes, bright blue and cloudy, are as wide as her smile as they stare straight ahead at the wall without registering anything before them.

Confused and awkward, Zuko feels like he's missing something magnificent.

"Why isn't it growing?" he asks.

"It is," Toph whispers. She places her hand over the spot he watered and her smile gets wider, fuller. Her black hair tousles in the wind, accentuating the slightly wild expression of excitement on her face. "Can't you _see_ it?"

"No," he says, pinching his eyebrows in annoyance, but she has already seized his hand and slapped it upon the balmy ground where the seed was planted. All he can feel is the slight dampness of the dirt and the hot sun on the back of his neck.

"I can," she says, still in that quietly excited voice.

Zuko is quickly annoyed at her obvious skill and his obvious idiocy, and how she keeps making it so… _obvious_. "How long will it take to grow so that _I_ can see it?"

"Don't be impatient," she snaps. "Plants take time. They take care and love and attention."

It's only when Zuko sighs and wonders if he even has that much patience that Toph explains: "Think of apple trees like relationships. It starts out as one interaction — _one seed_ — and grows from there, but only with carefully cultivated consideration. You have to be careful with her like you'd be careful with a human heart. They're delicate things, plants." Her face reflects fondness as she smoothes the dirt over the tiny seed, buried so deep beneath the moist soil. "Be gentle and be patient. It will grow. They both will."

Without warning but looking very happy, Toph stands, thrusting the shovel and watering can into Zuko's waiting arms. "Visit her every day, and don't forget," she instructs, "or you'll have to answer to _me._" Then she's gone, ambling through the doors back into the palace. Zuko looks back down at his little seed and thinks about what Toph said.

Ultimately it is the Earthbender's words that have him going back every day to water and check on the seed. He tends to it cautiously and tenderly like she instructed and with a little help it begins to peek out of its blankets, first a single leaf and then many more. He knows that someday it will grow to be a tall apple tree like the ones that used to surround the garden, but it will take more time, more love, more care, and more attention before they reach that final step.

Maybe, with a bit of luck, it will be big and impressive by the time Katara returns from the South Pole.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ The next one will be a continuation of this.


	18. Thoughts

**068. Thoughts**

Trees grow like relationships. Just like Toph said. Zuko feels ridiculous thinking it, but it's true. The apple tree slowly grows taller and stronger, and after a few months, it's taller than he expected one tiny seed to be.

"Good work," Toph observes, though she cannot see. "Now what have you learned?"

"That planting a tree is like a relationship," Zuko repeats nervously. "You have to be gentle with it and care for it and if you're patient it will grow into something great."

The corners of Toph's mouth tweak up into a smirk.

"What?" He's slightly offended and taken aback by the lack of praise he thinks he deserves. "Did I get it wrong?"

"No," she says pleasantly, flexing her fingers in front of her and closing her eyes. "I just wonder if you can take what this tree has taught you and put it in real-life."

Frustrated, Zuko demands, "What's that supposed to mean? I grew your stupid tree and now you're just giving me riddles — "

"Ah, ah, ah." Toph shakes her tiny finger at him, still smirking. "Getting angry with me won't help _any_ trees grow, Sparky."

Silenced, Zuko crosses his arms furiously.

"Hey, don't be like that. Sugar Queen's inside. I doubt you'd want to greet her with a mean face, huh?" Toph grins again. Zuko vaguely knows she's still making fun of him but his attention is wrenched away suddenly.

"Katara — she's — she's here? I thought she went back to the… to her village."

"She did." Toph shrugs. "But she's back. And this is what I'm talking about, Sparky. Go and grow yourself a tree, alright?"

She gives his left shoulder a significant look and then pushes past him, back inside, screaming, "Oi, Sugar Queen! He's out here, in the garden!"

Zuko stands stock still, his mouth suddenly dry as he hears Katara's sweet voice reply; the words muffle at this distance but his brain is whirring, going over what Toph said frantically in his brain.

_Think of apple trees like relationships. It starts out as one interaction — _one seed_ — and grows from there, but only with carefully cultivated consideration. You have to be careful with her like you'd be careful with a human heart._

And suddenly, as Katara steps out of the back doors into the sunlight, her dark skin shimmering and her blue clothing contrasting with the red all around her, Zuko understands.

Before he knows what's happened Katara has run up to him and thrown her arms around his neck; a hug filled with how much she's missed him. Over her shoulder, Zuko sees Toph standing in the door way, leaning against the frame, still smirking.

"Visit her every day, and don't forget," she mouths, "or you'll have to answer to _me._"

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I always thought that Toph could help Zuko with some life lessons. And I always liked the idea of Toph and Katara as good friends, despite their obvious… discrepancies. So there you go. She's nudging Zuko in the right direction here. :) I'll write plenty more with Toph, as I absolutely ADORE her character. I've got some really good ones planned.

Oh, and to those of you who celebrate, happy Christmas! If you don't, then happy holidays and I hope you're enjoying time off from school/work. Anyways, review, thanks for reading. ^^


	19. Kiss

**002. Kiss**

Positioned in front of a tall golden-framed mirror, Katara runs a brush through her soft hair; it falls over her shoulders, unusually straight and smooth. She did it differently tonight and coupled with her traditional, silky festival dress, she thinks it looks quite pretty.

There's a brief knock on her door. She rises and when she's opened it she finds herself face to face with the Fire Lord himself, with his hair down (the way she likes it best) and soft red and orange festival robes draping from his shoulders.

He clears his throat awkwardly. "It's eleven-thirty. The fireworks will start without us."

A wide smile splits Katara's face. Abandoning the brush and mirror, she closes the door behind her and follows Zuko out of her bedchamber. The New Year is only a half hour away, and for Katara it seems like with the turn of the year there will be a turn of the world, so to speak — she's hopeful for peace this year, finally, so that they can all rest easy. Taking a side glance at Zuko, she thinks that peace would be especially good for him. She can see the stress lines in his forehead.

Asking her to be his guest for the festival tonight was a formality that Fire Lord was expected to complete. Katara knows this. She's not sure why this is tradition but since the bad breakup with Mai, Zuko needed someone to bring in the New Year with. It's only a formality. Purely friendship. She's one of the only girls he is comfortable around, and the people of his country seem to like her. It's only a formality, but the fact that it's only that is slightly disconcerting to Katara.

"You know, you're supposed to kiss someone at midnight on New Years'," says Katara, still watching him as their shoes click lightly on the marble floors. As they approach the doors to the exit several guards nod and smile at them, but Zuko only grunts vaguely, in return to the guard's comments or hers she does not know. He holds the door open for her though, and they exit into the cool night air.

Before them is a huge maze of festival attractions and carnival games and glowing paper lanterns strung up above. Firebenders and skilled swordsmen and dancers put on shows for the surrounding people to watch, but Zuko ignores all this fanciful energy and plows through the crowd, Katara trailing in his wake.

"Are we going anywhere in particular?" asks Katara as he drags her past children playing a shooting game at a booth filled with stuffed animal prizes. "Anywhere special?"

Another grunt. She assumes this means something like, "You'll see."

And eventually she does see. Zuko leads her to a spot slightly outside of the brilliant festival attractions and upon a small grassy hill, with trees sparsely around it and empty torches which Zuko ignites with a little well-placed Firebending. It's calm up here, with the noises of joy pinching the air from behind them.

"I thought up here would be the best place to enjoy the fireworks," Zuko explains, gesturing to the night sky above them. "They're happening right there, so I…"

Before he can finish, a loud shout emits from the crowd behind them.

"Ten… nine…"

"I hope you don't mind me asking you here," Zuko says quickly. The lights around them illuminate his embarrassed expression. "I just didn't know who else to take to this festival and it's customary that the Fire Lord invite…"

"…seven… six…"

He fiddles with the silk strap around his waist. "You look wonderful tonight," he blurts out, and then appears to immediately regret it. "I mean, for a peasant."

"…four… three…"

Katara tries to feel what her face looks like right now. Shocked? Pleased? It's a mixture of both, but she must look offended because Zuko suddenly becomes hasty and awkward.

"That came out — wrong — I didn't mean it like — "

"…two… _one_!"

"Zuko, it's okay — "

But her words are drowned out by a large crack to her right and the explosion of cheers behind her; it is the New Year now, and above them the fireworks erupt in the sky.

Blinding and beautiful and striking and aflame with magnificence — that's how Katara would describe these fireworks. She has seen fireworks before but never like this, and she guesses that it has something to do with the fact that they _are_ in the _Fire_ Nation, after all. But she barely gets a moment to appreciate the crackling wonder above her before Zuko grabs her by the shoulders, whirls her around, and kisses her.

Stiff and shocked, Katara doesn't move at first. Zuko presses his lips harder against hers, as though desperate for some sort of reaction, and then pulls away quickly, like he just realized what he did.

"I'm — " He breathes softly. "I'm sorry. You said that you're supposed to — supposed to kiss someone and I just thought — "

Closing her open mouth abruptly, Katara cuts him off by taking a step closer to him.

"It's okay," she says. "I did mean you." Zuko opens his mouth to say something else, but she puts two fingers over his lips instead. "Don't apologize. Stop worrying. It's New Years'."

It doesn't feel like they are in a whole new year. It doesn't feel like some sort of grand turning point, or a miraculous moment. It's just a normal night. A normal night blending into a normal day which will probably lead into a normal year.

But as she kisses Zuko underneath the fireworks, she knows that this year _will _bring a change. And even if it doesn't bring total peace to the world it will bring peace to herself and to Zuko and that's good enough for her.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Happy two-thousand-ten, everybody. (:


	20. Fire

**017. Fire**

Her eyes are blue ice, yet they blaze with something smoky, something untamed. It burns within her core, smoldering anything that stands in her path to radiant ashes. Even though she's yelling at _him_ it still melts his heart just a little, in a good way.

"Zuko, what the hell are you _doing_?"

It's her scorching temper that lashes out on those who oppose her; she's a right-fighter and does not give up until she's won the battle. He admires her courage, her bravery, her persistence. It grows and spreads, conflagration in a forest. It touches him. It engulfs him.

"We're going to be okay, Zuko, but we'll just have to battle our way through this. Don't give up."

Her skin is warm melted chocolate flowing under his fingers, moving, throbbing, living, _breath_ing. He feels her heartbeat like it is a tiny pulsing candle-flame, exuding much more hot passion than he ever expected. Impossible to tame, impossible to hold, impossible to keep dormant.

"_Zuko_."

And there's flame's fickle sizzle in her voice, scorching with radiance, with zeal; he can hardly contain himself, and doesn't want to.

He's the Firebender, but _she_ has the fire inside her: It burns unlike anything he's ever seen and he wants it so badly his mouth waters and his fingertips spark and he's on his knees begging that she'll take him.

But like fire she is unpredictable and sometimes he wonders if he has the cool, collected water inside him that's needed to balance her out.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I've had this idea in my head since I first started picking up on Zutara. Sorry if it's cliché.


	21. Necklace

**075. Necklace**

"Happy…" Clumsy clearing of the throat. "Happy birthday."

The corners of nineteen-year-old Katara's mouth twitch. Zuko's so _cute _when he's embarrassed. He's blushing and shuffling his feet in the snow awkwardly, having just thrust out his hand to her, which holds a gift.

"You came all the way down here for my birthday?" she giggles again. "How _sweet _of you."

Zuko flushes even darker, and prods the tiny package in her direction. It has gold wrappings and a red bow — typical Fire Nation style colors. They look out of place here in the cold blue arctic of the South Pole. But she takes it and cradles it in her palms, smirking.

"Should I open it now?" she teases, and Zuko looks so frustrated that she can barely hold back a vicious wave of laughter. It's when she spots the spark sizzle in his finger that she subsides her teasing and gives him a playful smile. "Okay, okay, don't blow anything up. I'll open it."

Delicately she peels away the wrapping, letting it flutter to the snowy ground beneath them. They're standing just off the docks where his ship landed; the village is close behind them. She takes her time unwrapping, knowing that every moment of tantalizing wait just makes Zuko angrier. Finally the present is revealed (Zuko ducks his head so she can't see his eyes) and Katara's looking at the gift as though it's strange and otherworldly.

She holds it up to the light. Soft, ruby-red stones glint marvelously in the sun, and the golden charm that they are set upon shimmers benevolently. The pendent dangles off of a small scarlet ribbon, big enough to encircle her throat.

All of her playfulness vanishes, replaced by strange confusion. "Zuko," she asks slowly, pronouncing the syllables softly. "What… what is this?"

"It's a necklace," he responds curtly, looking up enough so she can see that he's rolling his eyes. "I thought you'd be able to figure that out."

"I know it's a necklace, but…" She turns the jewelry over in her hands, admiring its simple-yet-breathtaking elegance. Suddenly, her mouth runs very dry. "But why did you get it for me?"

"You're always wearing that one." He points to her collar, where her mother's necklace rests. "I thought it was time for… for a new one." He looks back down at his feet and shuffles them again, as though he's ashamed or something.

Katara takes a very deep breath, steadying herself. "Do you even know what it _means_?"

And suddenly he looks up at her, his eyes searching her face, desperate, longing, hoping, preying, _pleading_ for some understanding. Something clicks inside Katara, striking her like lightning in a brilliant streak. Zuko didn't just come all the way down here for her birthday after all.

"Do… do you?" she stutters, her elbows closing in on her ribcage, an involuntary defense mechanism though there is no danger. Zuko tilts his head up further, and she sees him smile briefly.

"Yes."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I decided to post this one because (as I looked through my archive of chapters for _Little Candles_) I noticed it was the only one remotely relating to a birthday. And my birthday is today. :) I also really really love this chapter. More than I can truly express. I just love the idea of a very embarrassed Zuko masking his true intentions of proposal within a mere birthday present. Ahh.


	22. Smile

**073. Smile**

"Hey. Be happy already."

Sharp. Biting at his flesh. Angry. Like the wind in a storm. He turns to look at her as she marches toward him, her sandals echoing loudly in the abandoned hall of the palace; he doesn't know how she found him out on his arbitrary stroll through his home, but she's storming dangerously near with annoyance painted all over her dark-skinned face.

"Uh… what?" The statement comes out sounding much stupider than he meant it to.

"I _said_, be _happy_ already." Her voice drawls over the emphasized words, her eyes rolling up to the ceiling. "Why is it that you look so pissed all the time?"

Ironic that she's saying this as she advances upon him, piqued face twisted into insensitive frustration, and stabs him in the shoulder with one finger, flicking it away quickly and then pointing it at his face for emphasis.

Alarmed at her sudden closeness, he steps back, confused.

"Well… you don't look too happy yourself." It's the only comeback he can think of.

Like a volcano, she erupts. "It's because of _you_," she exclaims, her voice bouncing back in the tile chamber. "The war's nearly over, your dad and crazy sister are in prison, you've got your honor, you've actually _got_ friends now, you're the _Fire Lord_ for Pete's sake — _so why don't I see you smile anymore_?"

He's so boggled that she pays so much attention to him and his lack of happiness that all he can fumble out is, "I had friends before."

"Oh yeah?" she challenges. "Who?"

Silence rings through the hall and she taps her foot, waiting. All he can think about is his mother, and that didn't really count, did it? Trounced, he looks away, his eyebrows tapering in irritated defeat.

"There!" she cries, pointing wildly at his expression; he jerks back so that she doesn't poke an eye out. "Don't look so angry all the time. It's not really flattering, you know?"

"Flattering?" He's disgusted. "I don't care if I look _flattering_ or not. I'm _Fire_ Lord. I've got bigger things to worry about."

"Look here, mister." She seizes his collar and pulls him so close there's only an inch between them. He tries hard not to breathe. "You smiled a hell of a lot more when we were out there miserable and out-casted then you do now when you have everything you've ever wanted. What I want to know is _why_."

All he can focus on his the sudden imminence of an alluring sort of danger; her face so close to his makes his head spin. It takes him a moment to truly register what she's saying.

"You want me… to smile?" he asks incredulously. Katara's grip on his shirt tightens, and he swears he can hear a growl rumble from her throat. "How am I supposed to… do that… when…"

His voice fades as she pulls him closer and covers his mouth in hers. He definitely can't breathe now; she suffocates him with her lips, pushing hard upon his — and then, just as quickly as it came, it's over. Releasing his shirt collar, she drops him and he stumbles to the floor, collapsing in a bewildered heap of numb vacuity. He can hardly think properly; Katara stands over him, her expression more irked than ever.

"Not even _that_ made you smile, for goodness' sake." She shakes her head in bitter disappointment. "That's just sad, Zuko."

Just as she's turning to walk away, Zuko feels the corners of his lips turn upward of their own accord. He's smiling, faintly — it's goofy and lopsided and he feels like a complete idiot for grinning after she kissed him like that but he's doing it. Yet Katara's already walking away, dissatisfied with his lack of happiness.

Ridiculous smirk still on his face, Zuko gathers himself to his feet and thinks that, if he should happen to find her tomorrow, he'll show her how happy he is. Oh yes, he'd show her.

After all, that one kiss will has him smiling all afternoon, and it's only gentlemanly to return the favor.

* * *

_Author's Note_: Sorry for the lengthy delay. Here's some good ol' fluff as an apology. :)


	23. Mother

**009. Mother**

Two people are staring at their own separate pictures, each lost in their own world. Both pictures are paintings, brilliant and vibrant and incredible and detailed. And beautiful. So beautiful. The women in the paintings are polar opposites from their head down to their toes, but there is a feasible connection existing in the very thread of their auras. Perhaps it's the kind smiles. The dark hair. The gentle eyes.

A young man kneels before his special painting, his ruined eye desperate for tears, but achingly dry. And a young lady grasps at the frame of hers, letting her hair — the same hair she sees in the brown acrylic upon the canvas before her — fall over her shoulders, closing her hollowness off from the world.

They're on totally different sides of the spectrum, different sides of the earth. But there's only one thing they think, and they think it together and irrevocably the same, the thought reverberating through the miles and reaching somewhere past the world of the living to the realm of the dead, prying its fingers under the dirt and the grime as though trying to find some hint of connection, of light, of relativity. Trying to find an answer. Something. Anything.

_Why did you have to leave me?_

And their eyes glaze over the fine art, their hearts breaking, their soul shivering, left alone, naked, unsheltered, left to fend for itself. There's anger there in both pairs of eyes, but it's more furious despair than anything else.

The fact is, the paintings just don't do the two beautiful women justice. None at all.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I just figure that since Zuko and Katara both lost their mother, they'd both feel that same agony, you know? I know it's not romantic at all. But the next one holds fluff, believe me.


	24. Dancing

**021. Dancing**

He takes her hand and her waist. The ballroom is full to the brim with people watching and waiting. As the two of the most important people in their respective countries and possibly the world, it is customary that they take the first dance.

The fabric is like liquid underneath his fingers, and Katara is utterly beautiful — there is no other way to describe the way her hair curls over her shoulders, the way her blue eyes match the azure dress just perfectly. It has real sapphires embedded into the collar, and they twinkle in brilliant harmony with her ever-present necklace wrapped around her throat. He has to admire her in the soft lighting; even though she's tough and robust and always ready for a fight, she cleans up well, putting on a show of being a lady for her country.

The Ice Hall of the Northern Water Tribe's Palace is where they are standing, and in the center of the dance floor, no less. They grasp hands and she has one arm thrown around his shoulder, and there is complete silence as they wait for the dance to begin. On one side of them is Sokka and Suki; on the other, Katara's grandmother and step-grandfather, both standing in the same position they are in now. Somewhere on the dance floor is Toph and Aang, but he can't remember where they were positioned at the moment — all he can focus on coherently is the girl standing in front of him.

Gently, the music plays, and their feet start to move.

It is a traditional dance, one Zuko had to learn step by step in the weeks before the ball. Soft and slow, music drifts from the band and diffuses through the room, and Katara is leading him around the ballroom floor, her dress sweeping at her ankles and her hair flowing with the movement.

"You're doing well," she comments reassuringly, a hint of amusement tucked behind her words. He grimaces at her, and she giggles softly. "Don't be so uptight. It's okay, Zuko, you're doing fine."

The melody of the song attracts other dancers, and soon the hall is filled with swaying bodies and timely movement. But to Zuko there is only Katara, only her wide eyes, only the soft skin of her hand on his, only the supple way the fabric of her dress moves under his fingers on her hip. He's never felt happier than he does in this moment, but it's not a bubbly kind of happy—it's a victorious kind of jubilance. Zuko's proud of himself: Here he is, actually dancing with Katara. Actually _dancing. _With _Katara. _And she's smiling at him like he's the greatest thing she's ever seen, all dressed up in his little Water Nation-style tux.

"Blue looks good on you," she whispers as the song slows down. He recognizes the slowing beat and knows it's the time in the dance to pull her closer. Her breath is in his ear now.

"It looks better on you," he whispers. She laughs softly and dips her nose into his neck, resting her head on his shoulder as they flow continuously with the song. And the whole room is watching, but to Zuko, there's only him and Katara and no one else.

_

* * *

_

_Author's Note:_ For Iceblossom22, who suggested this prompt. Hope you like.


	25. Broken

**056. Broken**

There are many friendships that are whole and stay whole through the entire test of time, but sometimes Sokka thinks that the relationships existing in his little group of friends are not whole, not at all whole, but instead verging on the brink of shattering completely.

There's Aang, who's desperately in love with Katara; Katara, who struggles between Aang, the sweet, soft, and tender, and Zuko, the wild, the passionate, the dangerous. Sokka doesn't try to pretend he doesn't notice it: He sees Katara pull back when Aang kisses her just a little quicker than the Avatar would have liked and turn behind her to look for the familiar scar that announces Zuko's presence. Pity for the youngster brews in the pit of his stomach, burning with shame for his only sister, but he will stick by her and stay strong for her, because he knows she needs him when she's so conflicted.

And then there's Mai, who clings onto Zuko with an iron grip and rarely lets him go. Mai, who breaks Katara's heart with cold stares and colder words. She intimidates Sokka but he also harbors a dislike for her because of the hurt that she's put his baby sister through, and even though it's arguable that the hurt is Katara's own fault, Sokka's brotherly instincts kick in again and he becomes a protective wolf.

Then there's him and Suki, who seem perfect on the surface but who, underneath, shift every once in a while when he looks up at the moon, because in the moon there's Yue and in Yue there's all the sadness in the world, and there's no possible way to stay consistent anymore.

And of course there's Toph, wonderful steady Toph, directly in the very middle of all of it, trying with all her might to hold everyone together and make sense of this un-steerable crash-course. She pulls from each end of the cable and struggles with fixing them, because they are all she has and he knows that she has no idea what she'd do if she lost them.

It's the moments when he's looking up at Yue and feeling inexplicably wrecked inside that the siblings find each other by intuition and hold each other tight.

Their bond, perhaps, is the only unbreakable one, the only one that has not yet splintered into a thousand jagged pieces. When everything else is broken it is Katara who wraps her arms around him and holds him fiercely to her, tears brimming in her eyes as he snakes his own arms around her waist and buries his face in her fury jacket.

They sit under the low moon intertwined in a comforting embrace, their blood-bond unbroken and steady; they know how lucky they are to have each other, because alone they would be completely ruined on the inside.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ This is NOT incestual. It's just Sokka's opinion on their group of friends, particularly on the relationship Katara has with Aang and Zuko and how Mai plays into that. I always imagine it being very obvious how conflicted she is between the two boys. ALSO, I just love family bonds. They're adorable, to be frank. You know. The love you have for a sibling. It's incomparable.

Review! (:


	26. Shuffle

**028. Shuffle.**

His feet shuffle when he's trying to be sneaky, and that's how she knows it's him out in the hallway.

"Aang," she says, placidly rolling her eyes to the intricately designed ceiling of her bedchamber, "What _are_ you doing?"

From the other side of the heavy wooden doors, Aang's voice betrays the shock at being caught that he tries so hard to cover up. It's kind of cute, but she feels a bit queasy for thinking that, especially in the presence of the young man lounging across her bed.

"N-nothing, Katara, just walking to, uh, Zuko's room, to ask him about, um, some Fire Nation things. Goodnight!"

She can almost see his huge fake grin, his adorable child cheeks dimpling, and his eyebrows arching down in badly masked anxiety that she might catch him in the act of spying on her. Or maybe he wasn't spying — maybe he just wanted to talk.

Disregarding this whimsically, she turns back to the person sprawled atop her scarlet comforter; shirtless and with his hair down and sprayed over the pillow like a silky spider-web, Zuko looks alluring and beautiful, the faint candlelight hitting him at a sharp angle and creating abrupt shadows across his face and body, a perfect chiaroscuro painting. He watches her with smoldering pools of gold for eyes — curious, but not altogether interested.

"You should get to your chamber before he does," she suggests, moving toward him through the orange and red haze that is her room here in the Fire Nation Palace. She crawls on her hands and knees toward him on the bed until she is right over him, holding her breath. He's so much _cooler_ than she is, especially when they're meeting in secret late at night.

"One more kiss," he whispers back, his lips barely moving, and his hand is on the back of her neck suddenly; she follows it's guiding motion down to meet his mouth oh-so-willingly. He tastes fierce and flaming for just a second and then he is gone from beneath her; the curtains ruffle and he's pulling his shirt over his head as he steps out onto the balcony.

She can almost hear his voice murmuring "I'll be back in a moment," carried softly on the breeze now waltzing through the open window.

And as she falls back onto her bed and sinks into her pillows, completely smitten, a faint, reluctant shuffling can be heard just outside her door.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ This one is so sad for me. But I love it just the same. Do you love it too? (:


	27. Threat

**085. Threat**

Sokka rarely gets legitimately angry, and when he does he is seldom taken seriously. Today's the day, however, that he is determined to get his point across and get it across good.

He marches through the forest to where he plans to meet his quarry, slicing bushes and branches out of his way with his sword. They fall to the ground and he expects them to shatter as they hit the rocky floor like ice cubes on stone, but they merely fall with the soft patter of leaves and pebbles. He slips around rocks and under trees, biding his time until finally he reaches the tiny clearing where a patch of darkening sky is visible through the thick evergreens.

There's nothing there, so Sokka waits impatiently, trundling his feet and cracking his neck and shoulders. His face is set into permanently grim lines; he's not preparing for battle but it feels like he is. Tension surrounds him. The faintest twig snapping makes him jump until…

"You wanted to see me?"

Whirling around, Sokka brandishes his weapon; it ends up only inches from Zuko's nose.

The other does not look afraid; rather, surprised and confused. He puts his hands up in defense, never taking his eyes off the gleaming sword between his eyes. He's almost cross-eyed. The sight would have made Sokka laugh on a happier occasion.

"What — ?"

Sokka doesn't let him finish. He takes a sharp step forward, forcing Zuko to take one back. Zuko ends up pushed up against a tree, his back fully in contact with the woody trunk. Sokka has never felt such trembling adrenaline within him, but he must keep control of himself: His brotherly instincts are becoming treacherously animal-like instead of simply a protective defense mechanism.

He takes one more step and if the sword was where it was previously it would have gone right through Zuko's nose, but it's slightly to the right of Zuko's ear now, the sharp edge on his neck, hovering, threatening.

Now it is Sokka's face that is inches away from Zuko's nose, so close that he is nearly going cross-eyed again trying to keep him in view. Anger builds in Sokka's stomach like vomit as he realizes that once his sister must have been this close to the swine, if not closer at one point. The thought sickens him.

Zuko opens his mouth like he aims to speak but Sokka is quicker.

"If you hurt her," he whispers slowly, pressing the blade a little closer, "I will hurt _you_."

With one violent move he stabs the bark of the tree three inches deep with a dull thunk from the sword. The ends of a few of Zuko's dark hairs break off and fly away into the wind; the prince is stunned into silence and does not speak or attempt to defend himself, simply staring at Sokka like he has never seen him before.

"Sokka, I — "

"I _won't_ hold back just because you're _royalty_," Sokka spits the word on the ground as he rips his sword from the tree and gives Zuko one final loathing glare. Then he turns around and leaves the clearing, allowing his message to sink in and hoping his anger has been taken as seriously as it possibly could.

He hopes with all he has, because this time it's not just his dignity at stake — it's his sister.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ I remember being far more excited about this piece when I first wrote it than I am now, months later. Ah well. I still find it to be somewhat entertaining. My next one will be something I find far more significant, though. Please review :D

P.S. Edited 10/10/10 (omg) because I figured out I have been using the word "lecherous" wrong this entire time and it does not, in fact, denote a parasite like quality; it actually gives something lustful qualities instead, which is totally _not _what I was aiming for here. Sorry guys! Everything's good now, and if I make any more vocabulary blunders, feel free to expose them to me so I can fix them right away!


	28. Where

**026. Where**

A boy stands on the far corner of the beach, his staff in hand, and gazes across the horizon. Water laps at his toes, covering and then uncovering in an unwavering system.

When he closes his eyes, he can still hear laughter echoing in his ears, bittersweet and blinding. It's not _his_ laughter, but someone else's — someone taller, someone tougher, someone more handsome than he is despite the ugly red scar covering his left eye.

Slowly the boy crouches down onto the beach's soft sand and shifts it between his fingers. He's lonely now and sort of empty inside. He's always been different but at the moment it feels like he's been completely severed from everyone else, like someone took a knife and sliced off the last remaining human connection he held onto. It's impossible for anyone to understand him, impossible for anyone to relate to this lost love to which he clings. They try, oh yes, they try very hard. Especially Toph, Sokka, and Suki, because they see what's happening and they feel sorry for him.

They feel so sorry for him it's sick.

He can hear the other's laughter, loud and deep and more man than _he_'ll ever be, and a beautiful girl's soft giggling, her happiness, her enjoyment… all brought by a different man. Jealousy rises in his throat.

Lifting a handful of sand, he hurls it at the sea in anger, tears burning in his eyes. The sand sprays out in the ocean wind, like a wall of mini-particles, before it falls and gets washed away in the current. He buries his head in his hands, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him. It's hard to be so different. Hard not to be an abnormal teenager, for he is sure that if he only _were_ normal, things in his life would turn out just the way he wants them to.

Sniffling, he removes his hands from his eyes and continues to sift sand between his fingers just for something to do. Devoted to its one task, the sun sinks over the horizon, casting long shadows and brilliant orange light. He doesn't try to appreciate it.

Suddenly, a noise sounds behind him, startling him dimly; he abandons his sand and turns around, neither slowly nor quickly, but indifferently, to meet the visitor.

A narrow-bodied girl stands a few yards away; from the way she's walking he knows she means no harm to his serene resting place. Her black, straight-cut hair hangs in her small eyes; the salty sea-wind blows it over and then away from her pale, flat expression. She shows no emotion in her facial muscles, in her grim mouth or cheeks, but he can see turmoil behind those grey-stone eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

Quietly, she moves closer and sits beside him, curling her knees to her chest and looking out upon the ocean too. A thin face, pale and untroubled, but eyes like tornadoes of confliction.

"I just needed to get away from someone."

He thinks of Katara and looks down at the baby-blue arrows on the back of his hands that make him different, that make him separate; he traces them with the opposite fingers thoughtfully.

"I know what you mean."

He wonders who she's thinking of, but he doesn't ask, and they sit together watching the ocean tides push and pull the earth. They are the same, both locked in a sort of lonely heartbreak, and for a brief moment he doesn't feel very different anymore.

* * *

_Author's Note: _I bet it's pretty easy to guess who this is about, hmm? It's so painful for me to write Aang when he's upset. Mainly because he's so innocent and adorable, and it feels like I'm being the big bad wolf when I point out how anguished he'd be over Zutara, but one thing I absolutely can't stand is when Zutarians completely ignore Aang's perpetual depression resulting from Zuko and Katara's union. Ahhh well. Review please! :3


	29. Rainbow

**004. Rainbow**

"Tell me about colors, Sparky."

Her voice is soft, contemplative, unusual for someone normally so raucous. The two of them are sprawled on a grassy hill overlooking the beach, captured in a rare moment of relaxation between training Aang and fighting a war. She faces away from him, her electric but sightless eyes turned toward the ocean. He's so used to her not looking at him that he doesn't question it; he simply watches her small profile thoughtfully.

"Here," he offers, "give me your hand—I'll show you."

She holds out her arm, palm up and fingers spread expectantly, as though she presumes he's going to give her something. Taking the small drinking flask he has beside him, he pours water over her skin. It streams through the wrinkles in her palms and drips down her forearm; she laughs like it tickles.

"That's blue," he mentions. Then, without warning, he clicks his fingers and a spark ignites; fire glitters in his palm. Instantly, the water droplets on her hand wither in the heat; holding it close enough so she can feel the heat, Zuko takes care to be sure it doesn't burn her.

"Ah! It's hot," she yelps, but she's beaming into the distance, delighted with their experiment.

"That's red and orange," he replies; the fire vanishes and he takes her hand again gently in his own—he can't help but be delicate with her, even though she's tougher than he'll ever be—and presses it to the moist grass beneath them, smoothing it over the soft blades. She buries her fingers in it, holding, touching.

"This is green. The dirt beneath it is brown."

Enjoying their game, she smiles into the ocean wind. "Colors make a rainbow, right Sparky?"

"Correct."

"Are rainbows beautiful?"

He's taken aback by her question. Glancing at her through the corner of his eyes—even though she's still facing the salty breeze, which tousles her dark hair in and out of the line of her unseeing vision—he says slowly, "That depends on what you mean by beautiful."

"What _is_ beautiful, anyways?" She sounds innocently curious, and it occurs to him that she might actually not know.

"Beautiful." Contemplating the word, he runs a hand through his hair wistfully. "Beautiful… It's pleasing, I suppose. It makes you happy."

"I don't get it." One tiny finger touches her temple in confusion; her dark brows furrow. "You can see colors and they're all one definite, unchanging thing—like, the color red doesn't just become blue all of the sudden—but you say beauty is happiness and happiness _can _change. Sight doesn't change, right? So why should something you _see_ change? The things I _feel_ don't change."

"Beauty is different to everyone," he explains, but he's becoming uncomfortable. She's got so many questions; he doesn't want to answer them wrong, and she's looking at him like he lied to her and even though she can't distinguish a thing before her eyes it feels like she can see right through him. "It's in correlation with what you personally find appealing."

She digests this for a moment and then asks, "Well, what's beautiful to you?"

For a second he doesn't know how to respond, but then a shout from camp behind them awakens him.

"Zuko! Toph! Dinner time!"

He twists around just in time to see azure stones glinting at him from beneath long eyelashes; he sees dark skin, like mocha, and slender arms and hips and legs; he sees long, flowing brown hair that touches the lower back of a woman with the body, personality, and aura of some rare, picturesque goddess.

"Oi, Sparky. Sparky? What happened to you, man? Your heart rate just sped up." Toph leans in toward him; he figures she felt his heart through the odd ability allowing her to feel vibrations through the ground. "What's so beautiful that it does _that_ to you?"

His mouth runs very dry as Katara bends low to retrieve a fallen plate from the ground, her hair cascading off her shoulders like a waterfall of brunette. She glances up and catches his eye, startled for a moment that he's watching _her_, before she turns rather pink, stands, and looks away quickly.

"Hell-ooo? What's beautiful to you, Sparky? Answer me."

He doesn't respond, and not because he doesn't want to admit something embarrassing—just because explaining the way he feels about Katara is like—well, explaining colors and beauty and rainbows to a blind person.

Sometimes it's just impossible.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ AVAST! AN UPDATE! I have been meaning to get around to this, but I've been listening to Artemis Fowl audio tapes non-stop the past few days, and now I read everything with a Irish accent in my head. So it was quite the challenge to go through all my one-shots and stop speaking like Artemis long enough to proof-read a few times. But, at long last, here you are. This one isn't actually due until the third update after this chapter, but I wanted to give you all something I'm really proud of. I personally love this one-shot, for reasons unknown even to myself. I just find it one of my better pieces, not to toot my own horn or anything.

Review please! (:


	30. Nose

**039. Nose**

She is strong, and that's why he doesn't love her. At least, that's what she tells herself.

She's not a submissive girl; _her_ refined knees have never brushed the dirty floor in favor of someone _else_. Regardless of what _they_ think—her critics, those swine—she holds her ground. Firm. _Strong_. _They_ don't know her, do they? Don't know what she's been through, don't know what she's had to do just to survive. Refusal to back down is why he doesn't love her, and nothing else.

Because he likes compliant girls, passive, obedient girls, who relinquish all aspects of their dignity just to please his egocentric ways, girls who submit to his will because they are absolutely and totally smitten with him.

Smitten. Submissive. It's all the same thing to her.

She used to be that way, once. A blissful, ignorant child, swept up in his charming but shadowy magnetism. He was like her, back then—a hard outer shell and a soft, sensitive center underneath the firm façade. She would totter after him, besotted, helping when she could and basking in the simple way he spoke to her—spoke to _her_—and taking pleasure in satisfying. Pleasure in surrendering.

But then she saw that _other_ girl—for that's what she calls the outcast, who can own no proper name in a mind twisted with resentment. The little Water Tribe girl, who scampers after him with blue eyes as big as the moon that glimmer and shine even without the light. Blissful. Ignorant. Happy to serve.

It sickens her upon first sight, and she feels sorry for the girl—embarrassed, even; it _must_ be humiliating to be seen wadding into his waters, which are full of traps and cages—but then she realizes, painfully, that that's what _she_ looks like. She and Water Tribe Girl are the same, following blindly a man who enjoys only their servitude.

Her stomach is queasy. She wants to throw up.

That moment she decides to let Water Tribe Girl chase him instead while she fades away into the shadows. Deciding to be strong and conservative is the best way to go in this scenario, because no man has ever controlled her and she refuses to let _this_ man do the unthinkable.

Nobody has ever seen her cry over it and she likes it that way, but that's not to say she doesn't, sometimes, when she's alone. Conversely, in public she turns her nose swiftly up at them and their nauseating fraternizing, because _she_'s the _strong_ one, the _smart_ one, the no-longer-submissive-but-totally-in-control-of-every-situation one. At least, that's what she tells herself.

But in reality, behind the grim-lined face and upturned nose, her heart is breaking. Strength is not represented by bottling up emotions and becoming a static husk of a human being, but she pretends it is because the truth is much harder to swallow.

She is strong because she refuses to be submissive, refuses to open up too far, refuses to develop into a vulnerable puppet for him, and that's the _only_ reason he prefers the Water Tribe girl. The only reason, the only reason at all.

At least, that's what she tells herself.

* * *

_Author's Note: _Ah, more Mai angst! This is Mai's twisted justification for letting Katara have Zuko while still keeping her shattered pride.


	31. Truth

**090. Truth**

"Truth or dare?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Truth or Dare."

"Uh, truth."

"Who do you hate?"

"Azula. My father. Who do you hate?"

"The man who killed my mother. You. Your turn."

"Oh ha-ha, you're so funny. Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

"What was the scariest moment of your life?"

"When I realized my mother was gone. When letters from Father didn't come on time. When Aang almost died all those times. When…"

"Okay, okay. You were scared a lot. I got it."

"Huh. Well sorry I'm not tough stuff like you, Mr. Macho. Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

"If you could have one thing right now, what would it be?"

Silence for a moment as he looks at her and grimaces a kind-of-embarrassed grimace. And then…

"…could I just pick Dare instead?"

* * *

_Author's Note: _Okay okay I know you want to shoot me but I'm just here dutifully delivering this bit of untagged dialogue. I do hope you're all still with me. As disappointing as I have been my next one shot is (not to toot my own horn) one of my grander pieces so do stick around! Review please. (:


	32. Breakfast

**015. Breakfast**

Light flits harmoniously through the blinds, bathing Suki in unexpected warmth. Rubbing a tired eye with an even wearier fist, she rises groggily, trying to block the light until her eyes adjust. A snore emits from the bundle of tangled sheets to her left; she glances fondly at the tuft of hair and bare shoulder peeking out of the blankets before standing and stretching. She quickly finds one of his old shirts and the shorts she wore over last night and slips them on, reflexively flattening her short but bedridden red-brown hair so that it doesn't look so sexed.

There aren't any clocks in this room so she can't be sure of the time, but outside the window the sun is barely rising over the crisp horizon, so she assumes that it must be somewhat early. Stifling yawn after yawn, she ambles out of the bedroom and into the hall, her exposed legs clipping in the cool morning draft.

Turning the corner into the kitchen, she thinks how good some warm, syrupy pancakes sound for breakfast—until she realizes that there's someone else already occupying the small table, a cup of steaming tea in his hands. White-hot embarrassment swallows her whole; she feels exposed, awkward, and confused—what is _he_ doing _here_? She hovers in the doorway for a moment, pondering this as she watches him sip his drink… what in the _world_…

And then everything becomes clear in a blinding streak of comprehension—_two_ siblings share this house and if _she_'s here for one, he'd certainly be here for…

As she realizes this and gulps, he looks up and faces her so she can see his scar. The shock of his face must be mirrored by the mortification on hers. He turns pale except for his cheeks, which are bright red suddenly—he's grasped this strange concept, too, and that only makes her feel more discomfited for the both of them.

They stay there staring at opposite ends of the floor for a very long time before she steps lightly into the kitchen, deciding that there's no other escape at this point. "Um," to announce her presence officially, and then, "Good morning."

"Morning," he whispers hoarsely. His voice seems to have failed him. He takes a sip of coffee tentatively.

She's sure now, that her hypothesis_ must _be why he's here in this house—for the sister of the two hosts—because his hair his just as disheveled as hers and he's only wearing half his clothes and his skin has that after-glow that only comes with one thing.

"I was just…" He reaches up to comb through his hair with his fingers as though he knows she's gathering clues about his night from it. "I didn't think anyone would be…"

He trails off and she's feeling the awkwardness too, standing there in the doorway; it's the hot, culpable humiliation of being caught in some blameworthy secret. Even though there's no shame in it, she still feels oddly liable for the lingering awkwardness.

Finally she finds her voice. "Do you want… do you want some breakfast?" It's a simple question, but one she has to force out through her teeth. Things are so tense in the kitchen that it seems even colder than it should be. She tries this as a peace-offering. "I was about to make pancakes. For… you know, for when Sokka wakes up."

He blinks like he's confused or something. What's his problem? she wonders. She can't help but add, "I'm sure Katara would like some, too."

And suddenly she's trying hard to stop her face from splitting into a huge grin; it's all she can do not to burst from laughter because Zuko still looks so guilty at being caught in Katara's house in the early waking of the morning. She imagines that he must be thinking about how she'll tell Sokka and then he'll get it bad, but she can keep a secret and she feels like this may not be the last time she'll have to.

"Sure, breakfast," he replies gruffly, looking away, "Breakfast sounds… breakfast sounds nice."

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Wow, I have't updated in, like, two years almost. Shooooot. Sorry. Okay. Gonna try to actually remember to update because I have a file with PLENTY more fic for this. Anyways, Suki and Zuko share an awkward moment after they both realized they spent the night over at the siblings' house. R&R!


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